Harry Potter Year 7
by Biff Mammatus
Summary: What if Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts for his 7th year? Story occurs Post-HBP. Assumes HPDH has never been written. NOTE: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, this is for entertainment purposes only! I have not yet come up with a decent title for this story, so suggestions are welcome!
1. Chapter 1: A Legend Remembered

On a hot, dry July evening a lanky boy of seventeen sighed and stretched out on his bed, his jet-black hair falling haphazardly aside to reveal a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It was this scar that made Harry Potter unique, and its cause that made him famous. He was the Boy Who Lived, surviving a killing curse from Lord Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in a century, and escaped unharmed except for the curiously shaped scar on his forehead. In fact, one could say that the cause of Harry's scar was also indirectly the cause of his current actions, which at this point were to lay aside a thick, leather-bound book that he had been immersed in for the better part of two hours. Across the front, gold calligraphic letters spelled out _Albus Dumbledore: A Legend Remembered_.

For nearly three weeks, Harry had been living at Number Four, Privet Drive to spend the summer with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He dreaded these summer visits almost as badly as his relatives d id, who were Muggles and despised magic in every form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their house as raw sewage. So, bored though he was, Harry was perfectly content to spend hour after hour in his room, unseen by the Dursleys and the Muggle world, in general. At this point, however, he was so disgusted that he actually wanted to leave, to go somewhere. Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had been an exceptional man, and the greatest wizard Harry had ever known. He had, sadly, been murdered at the end of last school year, by none other than Severus Snape, Harry's least favorite teacher at Hogwarts. Harry's current anger, however, was from a passage he had read in Dumbledore's biography, where the author took it upon himself to criticize the way Dumbledore ran Hogwarts. In Harry's eyes, Dumbledore was the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever had, and nobody was worthy of criticizing him.

Rolling off his bed with a sigh, Harry stood up and looked around his room. A bright orange glow from the setting summer sun illuminated the walls, briefly reminding him of his best friend Ron Weasley's garishly orange room at the Burrow, Harry's second-favorite place in the world after Hogwarts. Intending to take a stroll around the neighborhood to clear his thoughts, Harry silently plodded out of his room and down the Dursley's narrow staircase. At the bottom of the staircase, however, he paused and listened, as he could hear the evening news on the television.

"…Yet another hot day across much of the country, with high temperatures soaring into the mid-thirties across our entire area, and still not a drop of rain in sight."

"Great," Harry thought, muttering to himself, "they're talking about the weather. Of all things, the _weather_." He didn't care one bit about the weather, and although he wanted to slip out the front door unnoticed and avoid a barrage of annoying questions from his aunt and uncle, his curiosity got the better of him.

He turned the corner and crept into the Dursley's immaculately clean living room. Portraits of his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley stood watch like sentinels throughout the room, but there was no indication that Harry had been living with them or was even a distant relative. That was how the Dursleys preferred to live, pretending that they were not harboring an underage wizard in their quiet suburban home. Pieces of fine china and embroidery were the focus of the living room, with the small television crammed into the corner near the front window. Aunt Petunia sat in her chintz armchair, fanning herself with a piece of paper and wearing an exasperated look on her face. She looked up and frowned as she noticed Harry entering the room.

"What do you want?" she demanded gruffly.

"I wanted to see what was going on on the news, _if _that's ok with you," Harry snapped bitterly.

"Hmph," snorted Aunt Petunia, leaning forward in her chair. "Well, you aren't missing much. Still hot as hell and no rain. We haven't had a drop of rain since May and Vernon says it's the worst drought he's ever seen. This better not have something to do with _your _lot," she added harshly, eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

Harry laughed drily. "No you-know-what could cause a drought across the whole country." He knew better than to say the word "wizard" in the Dursley's house, despite the fact that Petunia's sister had been Harry's mother and a witch herself before she and Harry's father had been murdered by Lord Voldemort when Harry was a baby. It was because of this that Harry was forced to live with his aunt and uncle during the summers, between school years.

Aunt Petunia snorted again, and this time Harry took on a serious tone. "Er…Aunt Petunia…have there been any er…accidents in the news today?" he asked gravely.

Aunt Petunia sighed. "For the hundredth time, Harry, no," she snapped. "Every day you ask me, and every day the answer is the same. If you're so curious, why don't you watch the news yourself? Besides, why are you so interested in accidents in the news, all of a sudden?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, no reason," Harry lied, fidgeting nervously. "Well, I'm going for a walk."

Aunt Petunia grunted in reply, and Harry left and walked quickly out the front door before she could say anything else to him.

Outside, the sun had slipped below the horizon, tinging the sky with hues of crimson and lavender. The yellowed grass looked brown in the fading light, clearly suffering from the effects of the long drought. Already, many of the trees lining the street had started to drop their leaves like a soldier does his weapons in defeat, surrendering to the merciless drought and heat. For once, the cars in the driveways along Privet Drive were dirty, a result of the water restrictions preventing the residents from washing their cars. Harry, however, noticed none of this, absorbed in his own thoughts. Of course, he had his reasons for asking about accidents in the news. Whenever Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, murdered someone, the Muggle news always reported it as a freak accident-a bridge collapse, a chemical explosion, unable to realize the true cause of the deaths. The lack of accidents in the news could only mean that Voldemort and his followers were laying low, and this deeply troubled Harry. Not that he wanted Voldemort and his followers to kill and torture, but he had certainly thought that the frequency of attacks would increase, now with Dumbledore dead. After all, Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort ever feared, or so people said. And Harry had the unfortunate destiny of being the one who had to destroy Voldemort in the end, and it was for this reason that Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents and then tried to kill him as a baby. And now it was up to Harry to kill Voldemort, or die trying….

The barking of a large dog snapped Harry back to reality. Startled, Harry looked around to see a mastiff chained in a nearby yard, growling menacingly as it struggled against its chain, threatening to rip the stake it was tied to out of the ground. Harry turned around and quickened his pace, heading back towards the Dursleys, sweat trickling down his forehead in the stifling heat. He couldn't ever remember it being this hot outside, as long as he could remember. Everything outside was still. There was no wind to provide even modest relief from the heat, yet that did not stop everyone from having their windows thrown open in the vain hope of catching a slight breeze.

After a short walk, Harry arrived back at Number Four. He had barely gotten through the front door when he met his uncle face-to-face.

"You-!" Uncle Vernon began, his face quickly turning a deep purple color. "Me," Harry said calmly, trying to control his temper.

Uncle Vernon looked quickly around Harry to make sure the door was closed before putting his face very close to Harry's ear and whispering with a voice full of hatred and disgust, "Owls."

"Owls?" Harry replied loudly, just to incense his uncle.

"Yes, ruddy owls!" Uncle Vernon cried, turning around and lumbering towards the kitchen. "In here! On my countertop! Flew right in through the bloody window!"

Harry followed his uncle into the kitchen where, sure enough, a large brown owl sat on the countertop next to the toaster, ruffling its feathers and looking quite agitated at all the noise. Attached to its leg was a letter addressed to Harry.

Harry couldn't help but to chuckle. He remembered the time back when he was eleven, when owls starting flying into the Dursley's house daily with letters for Harry telling him that he had been accepted to Hogwarts.

"Take it, and get it out of here!" Uncle Vernon grunted, gesturing towards the owl. "And it better not come back in here! Imagine what the neighbors would think if any of them saw this rubbish!"

"Well, if any of them were wizards, they would find it completely normal," Harry replied coolly, untying the letter from the owl's leg. It quickly soared back out the open kitchen window.

Uncle Vernon looked as though he had been punched in the stomach, his face slowly growing more purple with flecks of white near his temples. "Don't say the word!" he roared, pushing Harry forcefully out of the kitchen. "It's madness! Eight more days, and then you're OUT!" he bellowed.

Harry allowed himself to be bullied out of the kitchen and then took off quickly up the stairs, eager to get out of Uncle Vernon's reach. Closing the door and flopping down on his bed, Harry opened the letter, recognizing Professor McGonagall's gently looping handwriting:

_Moony will be arriving in a few days. He has a message from me. _

_ Do not write back, and do not say anything in a letter that would_

_ put anyone in danger in case of interception._

_ -MM_

Harry read through the letter quickly twice before setting it down, a feeling of elation bubbling up in his chest. Lupin would be coming to see him in a few days' time, which meant Harry would be able to hear of any news firsthand affecting the wizarding world. Even better, Harry thought he could be leaving Privet Drive a few days early. The thought cheered Harry significantly. Picking up the biography of Albus Dumbledore, he began to read again.

_Albus Dumbledore took up a teaching post at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1934, coming on as the Transfigurations master. It is believed that he only returned to his hometown of Godric's Hollow once after this point, and that this visit was merely to visit the parents of the now-famous Harry Potter, although this point is debated. Clearly, his family tree dies out after 1927, so he would have had no other reason to visit Godric's Hollow, perhaps save for personal reminiscence. Those who knew Dumbledore knew he was quite a pensive man, and preferred to spend his free time musing over philosophical matters and even humoring his acquaintances with riddles._

_ With Dumbledore's defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, some began to question whether or not Dumbledore was a direct descendent of Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although it is known that Godric's son was named Reginaldus, and his grandson's name was shortened to Aldus, which could have become corrupted to Albus, there is no known connection between the two. Dumbledore's family tree itself only has been verified back to the 12th century, where a Reginaldus Dumbledore was found living in Godric's Hollow, but all attempts to bridge the gap between Aldus Gryffindor and Reginaldus Dumbledore have resulted in failure. Perhaps one day the gap will be broken, but for now, all we have is mere speculation._

Harry closed the book, frustrated. Why had Dumbledore never told him that both he and Harry were from Godric's Hollow? _Surely that had to mean something_, Harry thought. Harry realized suddenly that he had barely known Dumbledore. Sure, he had known him has a headmaster, as a mentor, and as someone who could be trusted. But, he had known very little about Dumbledore as a person. He gazed out the window at the increasing darkness, tears building at the corners of his eyes and blurring his vision. The greatest wizard in the world, and Harry had never bothered to know him as a man, whereas Dumbledore knew nearly everything about Harry.

Flipping to the back of the book, Harry found a short eulogy dedicated to the greatest wizard he had ever known:

_Albus Dumbledore represents all that we love in a person-a shining light in a sea of darkness, a source of wisdom in an era of uncertainty, and someone full of love when the world seems full of so much hate. More importantly, Albus exuded all the qualities that we as humans hope to experience-love, hope, freedom, forgiveness, tolerance, patience, cooperation, and compassion. It is important for us to remember, though, that Albus did not just have these abilities-he let them show through his everyday actions, to those of us fortunate enough to have known him personally. After all, to quote our beloved friend, "It is our choices…that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."_

Harry lay the book aside, tears falling freely from his eyes. Without Dumbledore, Harry realized, he was completely vulnerable. He leaned forward and rested his head against the warm windowpane, his tears blurring his vision as night fell outside


	2. Chapter 2: The Fugitives

**A/N: I have received various questions as to why I am writing this, 5 years after book 7 has already come out. First, I have not yet read book 7, as in doing so the series will effectively be "over", and consider me a wimp because I'm not ready for the HP series to be over! Also, I had several of my friends ask me when I graduated high school if I would write what I thought book 7 would turn out to be. I started this project but never got around to finishing it, so now that I've graduated from college I'm returning to this project. Finally, I do not have reliable internet service, so this story will probably be updated sporadically, but hang in there because I eventually will finish it, I promise! Just don't expect an update every day! **

**Also, thank you, **_**Harrypotterfreak**_**, for your review! There's only one chapter because that's all I've written so far! But I promise more will come in time! **

**To the rest of you, please don't forget to review! I know it's easy to just visit a story and skim through it and then click to the next, but reviewing takes only a second and I would really appreciate your feedback! **

**With that said, on to Chapter 2!**

**Chapter 2: The Fugitives**

The full moon threw a glimmering silver glow over the darkened landscape, throwing into relief two cloaked figures hurrying up a gradual hill, as if running from something. Although it was impossible to know what they were running from, it was obvious to what they running. A large, ornate stone mansion crowned the top of the hill, surrounded by a wrought-iron gate flanked by two statues of thestrals. The tall trees that lined the path seemed to add to the intensity of the scene, seeming to stand over and obscure from view the two figures. One of them was tall, with dark jet-black hair and a similarly dark cloak, while the other figure's pale blond hair could be seen in the silvery moonlight, a stark contrast to their overall dark appearance. This second figure was wearing a dark green cloak, and was almost reluctantly following the first figure from some short distance behind. The first figure had his wand out as if prepared for some sort of attack and was moving in a clearly agitated manner.

"Hurry up!" the first figure hissed sharply to the second, giving an impatient wave of his hand.

"If my father-" began the second figure, halfheartedly picking up his pace.

"If your _father_ were here, he would be agreeing with _me_, Draco," the first figure replied harshly. "After all, you forget your place. The Order already believes you to be on the Dark Lord's side, but the Dark Lord himself questions your loyalty after your miserable failure at the top of the Astronomy tower last June. It would be in your best interests to do as I say, as I have had experience in…keeping out of trouble."

Draco grumbled in reply, loud enough to make sure his dissent was heard, but not so loudly to make Snape whirl about and chastise him further.

By this point the two figures had already reached the wrought-iron gate. Placing his wand against the heavy iron padlock, Snape muttered firmly, "_In mortem ducimus." _A white wisp of what seemed like smoke issued from Snape's wand, first up his arm to the Dark Mark, then swirling around the padlock which then unlocked with a click and slowly moved aside, the gates opening slowly inward to allow Draco and Snape entrance into the wide courtyard of the mansion. As they walked through the gates, the eyes of the thestral statues seemed to follow their movement as they walked over the threshold and around the large, posh fountain in the center of the courtyard. The sight made Draco shiver, but he passed it off as a trick of the moonlight. Behind them, the iron gates slowly creaked back to their original position, the padlock sealing them in with a satisfying click.

"I still don't know why we have to keep headquarters _here_," complained Draco.

"It is an honor to be able to host the Dark Lord, Draco," Snape muttered softly. "It is undoubtedly an honor that many Death Eaters would, dare I say, _kill_ to have."

Draco shuddered at the mention of the word _kill_ and knew that Snape has chosen his words carefully and deliberately. "That's easy for you to say," he said through trembling lips. "You-Know-Who didn't murder your mother."

"As we have already discussed, the Dark Lord murdered your mother as punishment for you failing to kill the old fool," Snape countered, knocking on the door of the mansion three times. "And not another word of this."

Draco sniffed, but was otherwise silent. After a few moments, a high-pitched, feminine voice clearly full of hatred could be heard on the other side of the door.

"Who's there?" the voice demanded.

"It is I, Severus Snape with Draco Malfoy," Snape announced, but he kept his wand up.

After a few more seconds, the door was slowly pushed open to reveal Bellatrix Lestrange peering furtively out at them, with her wand also held ready. She looked back and forth from Draco to Snape a few times before settling her gaze on the latter, who stared back at her. Slowly, they both lowered their wands as she stepped aside to grant them entry.

"The Dark Lord will be pleased that you're back," she whispered to Snape, leading them down a dark but fancy hallway adorned with various marble statues and portraits of rich wizards. The pictures were generally silent, although a couple here and there made snorting noises or grunts of disapproval as Draco passed them. Clearly, he had fallen short of their expectations, as well, by failing to kill Dumbledore.

"I have good news for the Dark Lord, as well," Snape replied curtly as they walked to a large door at the end of the hallway that stood slightly ajar, a dancing yellowish light spilling into the hallway from inside the room. Bellatrix slowly pushed the door open, and the source of the light was revealed-a fire burned high in the fireplace next to a large, opulent mahogany table, around which were seated approximately thirty people, with none other than Lord Voldemort sitting at the head of the table.

"Ah, Severus, you have returned," Voldemort said softly in his hiss of a voice. "I trust that you have brought good news," he continued, ignoring Draco, who took a seat at the table next to his father. Lucius Malfoy did not look at his son, instead staring fixedly at a point on the table about two feet in front of his nose.

"I have, my lord," Snape announced, bowing slightly. "I have just been in touch with my colleagues at Hogwarts."

"What is the news?" Voldemort asked impatiently.

"I have reached a deal with them that Draco shall be allowed to return back to school for his final year of study," Snape replied, facing Voldemort but staring at the hem of his robes.

"What was their condition?" hissed Voldemort.

"Draco shall be placed under the _Fidelis _Charm," answered Snape, "for his own protection. Only the teachers will be able to see him. It is a well-known fact at Hogwarts that he was the one who was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but the teachers at the school believe he chose not to, and still wish for him to continue his education."

"The fools," Voldemort muttered angrily, standing up. "That is the problem with those who love, they give second chances when none are deserved." He began to pace back and forth slowly. "But, nevertheless, I would not prevent a young wizard from attending Hogwarts if the opportunity granted itself, having an…affinity for the place, myself," Voldemort continued, speaking more to himself than anyone else. "And his secret-keeper?"

Snape fidgeted nervously. "None other than myself, even though as you already know I will not be returning to Hogwarts to teach this year," he murmured quietly.

"The fools still believe that you are on their side, then?" asked Voldemort, stopping his pacing and looking straight at Snape.

Snape gave a start as the memory of his conversation with McGonagall and Moody were brought to his vision. Aware that Voldemort was using Legilimency on him, Snape muttered in reply, "Yes."

"And their reception of you?" Voldemort pressed on.

"Hostile, but open," Snape replied. "After all, I reminded them that Dumbledore had told them countless times to trust me completely, so they still believe me to be on their side despite what happened last month."

Voldemort laughed, a high, cruel laugh, devoid of any joy or emotion other than hate. "Fools," he repeated, staring into the fire for a few moments. "Although, that is probably a good thing. Draco can stay at Hogwarts and keep an eye on Harry Potter for me," he said, turning to face Draco. "You will find that although I punish for failure, I am merciful…I will give you one more chance to prove yourself to me. You will go to Hogwarts under the _Fidelis_ Charm as planned, and you will keep an eye on Harry Potter and his whereabouts. You will report to me every week, particularly if he leaves the castle. You will be my eyes inside Hogwarts," he commanded icily.

"Yes," Draco replied nervously. He glanced quickly over at his father, who continued to remain fixated on a point on the table. Draco looked away, staring at the hem of Voldemort's robes.

Seemingly satisfied with his reply, Voldemort turned to face Snape once again. "Harry Potter will be leaving his relatives' house soon because he comes of age, will he not?" he asked Snape.

"Yes," answered Snape.

"And what day will he be moved? I cannot touch him until the protection runs out on his birthday," Voldemort spat, red sparks emitting from the tip of his wind harmlessly into the fire.

"On the thirty-first, his birthday. Dumbledore said he needs to stay there until the evening of his birthday in order for the magical protection to continue," Snape replied, staring at the floor.

"I have heard he will be being moved on the twenty-ninth," a voice announced. A slight ripple of commotion went around the table at hearing this information.

"Quiet," Voldemort hissed, and the murmuring stopped at once. "Go on, Wormtail."

"My lord, I have been given information that he will be moved sooner," Wormtail continued, twisting his robes in nervous anxiety.

"Given, Wormtail, or overheard?" questioned Voldemort coldly, a slight sneer across his features.

Wormtail winced as though slapped in the face. "I'm sorry, my lord, I overheard," he whispered, shaking.

"And from whom did you hear this?" asked Voldemort.

"I overheard Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt discussing it in Hogsmeade," Wormtail explained, growing slightly bolder. "I was in my Animagus form. They were sitting at the Hog's Head bar, talking with the barman."

"Curious," Voldemort replied, fingering his chin thoughtfully. "One would think they would be more discreet when discussing such a…_valuable_ piece of information. And what would the bartender of the Hog's Head have to do with any of this? Although if what you have said is true, Wormtail, that is very interesting. Of all members of the Order, Lupin is probably closest to Harry now, so he would know…" Voldemort trailed off in thought.

"My lord, I have personal confirmation from McGonagall and Moody that Potter will be moved on the thirty-first," Snape chimed in firmly. "They still believe me to be a member of the Order, and as such, I am…entrusted with certain valuable information."

"I see," Voldemort mused. "However, we will set up watch at Harry Potter's residence on the twenty-ninth, just in case. I will not have him slip through my fingers again." Red sparks continued to issue from Voldemort's wand as the anger became more obvious in his voice. As the sparks fell into the fire they caused the fire to flare up, as though mirroring Voldemort's suppressed anger. Silence was prevalent around the table as all of the Death Eaters were too scared to speak. "Yes, we have insiders now at Hogwarts as well as the Ministry of Magic…he will not slip through my fingers again."

"The Ministry, my lord?" Bellatrix asked, looking up obsequiously from near Voldemort's elbow.

"Useful and loyal as you are, Bella, I cannot tell you everything. But yes, we have certain Ministry officials currently under the Imperius Curse, actively doing our bidding. You will see certain changes soon enough," Voldemort replied.

Bellatrix sighed and slumped down a little in her chair, dejected. A slight murmur of assent circulated the table at which they were all seated. Voldemort walked slowly back to his chair, pocketing his wand before sitting down, his Snake Nagini curling herself around his feet.

"And now, to discuss our future plans…." Voldemort began, addressing the group of Death Eaters sitting around him at large as the fire slowly crackled lower and lower


	3. Chapter 3: The Werewolf in the Living Ro

**A/N:**

**Probably the last update for a few days or so, as I'm going on vacation to Yellowstone this week! Anyway thank you all for reading and please don't forget to review! I know how many people read this story and how many review, and so far only one review for over a hundred views! Your feedback is important to me! I'd like to know if my characters are coming across ok personality-wise and whether the story is moving too slow, too fast, etc. **

**This chapter was hastily-written and bashed out, so I apologize if there are any inconsistencies. If any are found I will review and edit this chapter, but for now, here's Chapter 3!**

**Chapter 3: The Werewolf in the Living Room**

It was a few days later, and Harry was bored out of his mind at Number Four, Privet Drive. Sure, he had his spell books that he was looking through and his biography of Albus Dumbledore that he was in the midst of rereading, but the combination of hot, dry days and the lack of any news from the wizarding world made the time nearly unbearable for Harry. Not only that, but even worse, he had not even heard from his friends, Ron and Hermione. He was sure that they were enjoying the summer at the Burrow, getting three square meals a day and enjoying themselves playing Quidditch or utilizing one of the many Zonko's joke products that their brothers continually brought home, despite Mrs. Weasley's scoldings. The thought made Harry feel a slight ripple of jealousy and anger at being left out of the fun. Yet, at the same time, Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be at the Burrow, either. After all, Ron and Hermione had gotten pretty close at the end of last year, particularly during and after Dumbledore's funeral. The thought of Ron comforting Hermione as she cried into his shoulder made Harry feel strangely lonely and distant. Then, there was the thought of Ginny…he had ended his relationship with her for a reason, and he wasn't sure that he would be able to keep it that way if he were indeed at the Burrow for the summer. Still, he longed for the company and the fun.

The Dursleys were, unbelievably, treating Harry slightly better than they had been all summer. Perhaps it was because they knew that he would be leaving soon, or perhaps (although Harry sincerely doubted it) they were starting to finally feel some remorse about their poor treatment of him over the years. Aunt Petunia had finally let Harry sit at the dining room table for dinner that evening, a delicious combination of shepherd's pie and stewed cabbage. Of course, Harry knew it couldn't compare to Mrs. Weasley's cooking, but it was still better than the typical grilled cheese sandwiches that he was given at night. Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, took every opportunity to snort his disapproval at Harry's presence in the dining room during dinner. After all, the last time Harry had been allowed in the kitchen at dinnertime, he had managed to swell up his Aunt Marge with an Engorgement charm, and he hadn't even been eating dinner at that time. After this incident, Uncle Vernon did not even wish for Harry to play the role of personal butler to the Dursleys at meal times.

Despite the slow, crawling summer, Harry was looking forward to this evening. It had been a few days since he had received the owl from McGonagall, which had said that Lupin would be coming to visit in "a few days." Harry had sat perched by the living room window all afternoon and evening yesterday, looking expectantly out at the street, but to no avail. He had done the same today, save for a few hours earlier in the afternoon when Aunt Petunia became suspicious and sent him up to his room. He had spent the time sitting in his bedroom window, which overlooked the street, perusing a copy of _Moste Importante Spells: When the Dark Arts Are Throwne at Ye_, an old medieval-looking copy of a defensive spell book that Hermione had let him borrow at the end of last term. However, he hadn't really paid attention to the book, the words swimming in front of his eyes as he looked up every few seconds to scan the street cursorily for signs of Lupin's arrival. During dinner, he had hardly been able to sit still, and despite his hunger, he ate very little. Now, he was still perched in the living room window as the clock above the fireplace struck eight o' clock. At that moment, however, there was a soft _POP_ outside, and Harry's heart soared as he saw Lupin disentangle himself from a clump of bushes and walk down the sidewalk as though he were on a Sunday stroll.

Harry had decided it best to not mention to the Dursleys that Lupin would be arriving sometime. After all, Lupin was a wizard, not to mention a werewolf, and if the Dursleys knew the true nature of the person coming to visit Harry, Harry could just imagine their reaction. The last time a wizard had visited the Dursleys, Harry remembered with a chuckle, they had been completely speechless at Dumbledore's presence. It hadn't been the first time they had been terrified from an encounter with a wizard, and it wouldn't be the last.

A knock sounded at the front door, and Harry bolted up from his spot at the window and charged into the front entryway as Uncle Vernon's voice roared behind him, "Who the devil is calling at this hour?"

Harry ignored him and threw open the door, a smile lighting up his features as Lupin's tired but smiling face greeted him.

"Harry, hello, how are you?" he asked, offering his hand, which Harry shook heartily.

"Great, how have you been?" Harry asked, motioning Lupin inside. At that moment Uncle Vernon's bulk appeared at the end of the entryway, his voice thundering off the close walls, "Who is it?"

Lupin stepped over the threshold, walking straight up to Uncle Vernon, proffering his hand. "Remus Lupin, I am a friend of Harry's. You must be Vernon Dursley," Remus greeted.

Uncle Vernon stared at Lupin, taking in his shabby appearance, and then shifted his gaze down uneasily to Lupin's hand. After a few tense moments, he looked back up at Lupin and sniffed. "I take it you are one of those…whatchamacallit's," he said shortly, dislike evident in his tone. He couldn't bring himself to say the word _wizard_.

Lupin slowly dropped his hand, but did not falter in his extroverted demeanor. "Well, yes, I am, I would be lying if I said I wasn't," he said softly, smiling.

Uncle Vernon grimaced, looking shiftily around, unsure of how to respond. "Well…what do you want?" he demanded, taking a few steps backward into the hall.

"I would like a few words with Harry, if you don't mind," Lupin said gently, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Although I would welcome an opportunity to speak with his Aunt Petunia, as well."

Uncle Vernon tugged nervously at his mustache. "And what do you want to talk to her for?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, but I assure you it is of the utmost importance," Lupin responded politely.

"Let me remind you that you are standing in my house," Uncle Vernon threatened, "and I have every right to know why you wish to speak with my wife."

"Very well. But before I explain to you, it would be best for her to be present as well, so as to save myself the hassle of having to explain twice," announced Lupin. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to allow us all to sit?"

Uncle Vernon looked mutinous for a moment, then softened slightly. "Fine, Petunia is in the living room," he muttered, walking backwards into the living room so as not to turn away from Lupin and risk what he thought might be an attack coming from a wizard. Harry led Lupin into the Dursley's living room, where Aunt Petunia was seated in her rocking chair by the window, sipping a cup of tea. She nearly choked on it when she saw Harry walk in with Lupin, with Uncle Vernon bringing up the rear, looking extremely aggravated and annoyed at their presence.

"Who are you?" she demanded, staring openly at Lupin and taking in his shabby appearance with an air of distaste.

"Remus Lupin, I am a friend of Harry's. I went to school with your sister," he greeted, bowing slightly to her.

"I see," she replied noncommittally, staring at him with a mixture of apprehension, disgust, and fear.

Harry sat down on the Dursley's large leather sofa, and Lupin took the seat next to him. Uncle Vernon, however, remained standing next to Aunt Petunia in her chair. The atmosphere remained extremely tense for several moments until Lupin finally broke the silence.

"A nice place you have, here," he said politely, trying to initiate conversation.

"Why yes, we prefer to live…stylishly," Vernon replied, puffing out his chest. "It's what normal people do, you know."

Lupin chose to ignore the insult. "Well," he began, looking around nervously, "I have come to discuss the current situation going on in the wizarding world, and to discuss how it affects Harry and you as well," he announced, facing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.

"Us? How could something possibly going on in _your_ world affect us?" Vernon demanded. "Well, you see," continued Lupin, "as I'm sure you know, Harry has had to stay here every summer since he started school at Hogwarts. I'm sure you remember why?"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were silent for a few moments, then Aunt Petunia muttered, "Yes."

"Very good. So you understand that Harry has had to return here every summer because of the protection provided by his mother's blood, the very same blood that runs in your veins, my dear lady," Lupin explained, addressing Aunt Petunia. "In the wizarding world, as I'm sure you remember, we are currently at war with a very powerful dark wizard, the most powerful dark wizard in a century. This is the same dark wizard that murdered Harry's parents seventeen years ago. He wishes to kill Harry, and will stop at nothing to do so."

"Hmph," snorted Uncle Vernon, "and how does that affect us?"

"Well you see," continued Lupin, "he knows that Harry is staying here, and he knows that the magical protection provided will run out on his birthday in a few days. When that happens, not only will Harry be vulnerable, but so will you. I cannot doubt that he will not try to come here, to question you for information, to torture and kill you if he feels necessary. I therefore must urge you to act now and leave, and go off somewhere. I cannot tell you where, but do not leave any trace of where you might be heading. I assure you that you do not want him to find you."

During this entire speech, Aunt Petunia's face had become more and more horror-struck. As Harry watched his aunt's expression, he suddenly realized just how happy he was that his aunt was his mother's sister. If nothing else, she knew and understood the gravity of the situation, and Harry knew that she felt the same fear that he did, with her family and the ones she loved being in danger. Harry opened his mouth to tell Aunt Petunia this, but was cut off by Uncle Vernon.

"Go off somewhere? What do you mean, go off somewhere? This is our home, and we won't be leaving just because of some threat by some…evil man!" Vernon roared, his face turning purple and flecks of spit flying from his mouth. "We won't just pack up and leave because of him!" he motioned at Harry.

"I understand your concern and hesitance," Lupin said softly. "But it must be done, for your own safety and for the safety of your family."

"There is no reason why a man and his family should not be safe in their own home!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

"I must insist, even though you cannot understand this fully, that it must be done," Lupin repeated.

"Well, we won't do it!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said softly, "we must. We don't want to put Dudley in any danger. Remember the deal we had with Albus Dumbledore when we took Harry in."

Uncle Vernon appeared to deflate softly at his wife's words. "But, we, I, can't," he spluttered, looking hopelessly around. "What about my job? What about our house? Where will we go and what will we do?"

"We will have to make the best of it until things improve," Aunt Petunia muttered. "I don't know how long it will take, but when it comes to family safety, nothing is too long or too difficult to do to ensure that."

Harry caught his aunt's eye, and smiled weakly at her. Despite the years of mistreatment and abuse, he at least was relieved that she understood the situation. She nodded at him softly, swallowing hard.

"It doesn't matter where you go, or what you do, just make sure that you leave before midnight on the thirty-first," Lupin said gently. "Otherwise, it will be too late."

Uncle Vernon took a breath, opened his mouth to argue some more, but at the touch of Aunt Petunia's hand on his forearm, he thought better of it. "Fine," he muttered angrily, although still glaring at Lupin.

"Very well," Lupin sighed. "And now, I would like a word with Harry, please. It will only be a minute."

Uncle Vernon again looked murderous, but then sighed angrily. "Fine," he repeated, and stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, Aunt Petunia following him silently.

Lupin turned to face Harry. "I understand that you are planning not to return to Hogwarts this year," he began. "I know you are planning to go and destroy You-Know-Who, but I must insist that this is not a good idea."

"Well, I'm not going," Harry said angrily.

"Please consider this, Harry," Lupin continued. "If You-Know-Who finds out that you are not in Hogwarts, then he will know that you are up to something. It will only be a matter of time before he puts two and two together, and starts hunting for you himself. And if you are not ready to take him on, and he finds you, well…" Lupin trailed off.

"And how would he know that I'm not in Hogwarts?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, you're not thinking clearly. This is You-Know-Who we're talking about. Remember that he can still make the connection with you that he did two years ago. He can lure you to him, he can possibly peer inside anyone's mind at Hogwarts if he so wishes, there are ways he can find out," Lupin explained patiently. "He has his ways of finding out information that he desires."

Harry sighed angrily. "And how am I supposed to go about destroying him if I'm stuck in Hogwarts all year?"

"That," answered Lupin, "is something that we will discuss the day after tomorrow, when you will be picked up by several members of the Order and return to the Burrow."

Harry perked up slightly at these words. "So I'm leaving in a couple of days?" he asked.

"Yes, it is for the best. Technically you should stay here until the thirty-first to ensure that the magical protection from your mother's sacrifice lasts until then, but I think given the situation and the fact that You-Know-Who knows you will be leaving then and will probably be waiting for you, there's nothing wrong with ending it a few days early. Hopefully we can get you out of here before he realizes what we are planning," Lupin explained.

Harry said nothing, just stared at a spot near Lupin's shoulder for a few moments.

"Harry, I need to know what it is that you will be doing this year. I don't need to know the details, but I would at least like to know. I think it would be in your best personal interests to let the Order know, so that we may protect you," Lupin said.

"I can't," Harry responded quickly, "Professor Dumbledore told me to not tell anybody, not even McGonagall. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt your abilities, Harry, but you have been prone to get yourself into dangerous situations before," gently replied Lupin.

"Yeah, and I don't need you bringing that up again that I have risked my friends' lives on a hunch," Harry muttered angrily.

"Harry, I am not trying to scold you, only trying to help you understand," Lupin said softly. "If you let me know at least what you are up to, I will not tell anybody, and I can personally help ensure your safety."

Harry debated for a moment, trying to decide whether to tell Lupin that he would be going off searching for Voldemort's Horcruxes. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't. All I can say is that there will be times throughout the year when I will be leaving Hogwarts to…er…proceed towards destroying Voldemort. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you exactly what that involves. But if you want, I will at least tell you when I will be leaving and where I will be going."

"Thank you Harry, that is all I can hope for at this point. Several members of the Order will be arriving here at nine o' clock in the evening the day after tomorrow. We will be transporting you by broomstick to the Burrow. Hagrid will carry your belongings in the sidecart on his motorcycle," Lupin explained quickly.

"Why can't we Apparate?" Harry asked.

"Because, Harry, you have not passed your Apparition exam yet, and are not yet of age. Plus, with all of your belongings, it becomes a hassle," explained Lupin.

"Well, fine then, what about Floo Powder?"

"I'm afraid the Ministry is monitoring the Floo network closely, for their own security apparently. But the Ministry has been doing a lot of things strangely lately, so who knows," answered Lupin.

"Like what?" Harry quickly questioned.

"Later, we will discuss it at the Burrow," said Lupin. "And now, I must be off. Remember, be ready at nine o' clock the day after tomorrow."

"How do we know Voldemort won't be waiting for us?" Harry asked.

"We have laid a false trail, making him believe you will be moved on the thirty-first. But still, we don't want to be late," Lupin replied. He stood up and started heading out of the living room. Harry got up and followed, not wanting Lupin to leave.

"Will you be here, then?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not, Harry, as I'm needed on duty elsewhere," Lupin said sadly. "But I will see you at the Burrow after you get back."

Harry nodded, opening the front door for Lupin as a blast of hot air blew into the house from outside. "Take care of yourself, Harry," Lupin advised, shaking Harry's hand and stepping over the threshold.

"You too, sir," Harry replied. Lupin turned and walked down the front steps toward the street. He turned and shuffled down the sidewalk for several yards before darting into a clump of bushes. A muffled _POP_ from the bushes told Harry that Lupin had Disapparated. Harry watched him go with a renewed feeling of loneliness and sadness


End file.
